The First Age

The guy spoke into the ear of a woman with him, one that Jaxen didn’t recognize, but he kept his eyes glued to the face of the one he did. They ducked out pretty quickly, obviously recognizing him in turn, and Jaxen was faced with a choice.

One, a cold river of fear shivered right through him. He rubbed his wrists as though the metal still dug to the bone. The sounds of Mik’s fight faded, drowned by the memory of Earless’ endless moaning. 

Then, the river ran warm. An anger that Jaxen didn’t even know existed in him churned hot. He’d been unable to defend himself at the time those cannibals snatched him off the street, but now… Now he wanted to meet them again.

He followed after them, ducking between the shoulders and bodies pivoted toward the fight mere steps away, sliding and squeezing as he moved. The Ancient Power was begging to be unleashed, though he wasn’t sure what to do with it once that particular cage was thrown open.

He eagerly positioned himself to cross their path on the way to the exit, where he was leaning against the wall, feet crossed at the ankle and studying his fingernails with all the casual air of an impromptu coincidence.

And when he smiled, it was with the grin of a serpent greeting its meal.

“Oh how the tables have turned,” he said in greeting. He studied the woman first, looking her up and down, and found some approval in her, even if she was a bloodthirsty cannibal, and he assumed she was. Then he turned his attention to the guy and waited to see what he would do.

He knew he wouldn't escape that easily. And his folly was losing sight of the man. Sophia hadn't known better, but there was no way you could mistake this man for homeless. Though he had looked horribly mistreated when he'd found him in the cellar with the other victims of Cedric and his friends. It was a horrible place it made Ashton shutter. He hated the monsters that kept their food alive. Cedric was one of the worst. Why couldn't they all be like Max? But it wasn't his place to question his masters. He was nothing but their pawn.

"Oh how the tables have turned." the voice crooned and Ashton's blood ran cold.

Shit! Shit! Ashton looked around for any sort of place to escape to but it was already too late. This was not how it was supposed to happen. Victoria clung to his arm and pulled him tightly against her like she was afraid. But there was no fear in her voice. "From what I recall, there were just cages and chains. No tables to turn or flip or whatever you like darling."

Ashton turned to look at his friend and he saw her mother in her face and it was terrifying. "Vic, no. It's okay. Please just go home." He peeled himself from her grip and took her hand and guided her towards the door without moving his feet. She went along with it. His voice doing most of the persuading. He hated manipulating her like this but he didn't want to explain why Victoria got hurt, or even expelled from the Almaz. He could handle this.

Victoria was on her way out when Ashton turned back to Mr. Marveet. "I'm sorry. I told them to let you go. That you'd be missed. But they didn't listen to me. They never do." Ashton knew that his words alone wouldn't sate the man. Why should they, but the lyrical sound behind them should. It wasn't even something he thought about doing it just happened. Part of protecting himself. Part protecting Victoria and more than that it took more effort to not use his natural inclination than to just be himself. And right now that's all he was -- himself. Just a pretty boy hoping not to get beaten to a pulp by a much bigger man than him. Not that he was short by any standards, but thin and lanky never really sized up to anyone. He smiled to disarm the man but he hoped this would not end up with violence. Ashton really hated violence.

Now he was alone (figuratively) with his captor, he attempted to match the hungry expression the cannibals wore while studying the nice cut of Jaxen-loin and use it back at them.

“What should I take first? An ear, maybe? I hear they are the best.” He licked his lips as his gaze slid from the nice, fleshy lobe to the middle of his pretty face. “Maybe the nose next?” And he reached out as though to caress the man’s hand. “Then some fingers?” and took a step nearer. It wasn't a friendly step.

He couldn’t keep it up for long, because one, Jaxen wasn’t a sick sonuvabitch, and two, as his gaze settled into the shimmering orbs before him, thoughts of revenge seeped slowly away. His lips parted as though he was on the cusp of more taunting, but the words drained and he just blinked, studying the man’s face. And the man, a boy, really, held his gaze as though reaching into his very soul (assuming Jaxen had one).

Around them, people were oblivious to the magnificent creature in their midst, and he himself couldn't believe he just noticed it. His heart threaded a slightly faster beat. “Umm,” he started, suddenly feeling strangely inferior in comparison. Yet, at the same time, urgency stirred.

Jaxen’s expression shifted, then, and the smile that twisted his lips was beckoning. The same sort of coy cast of one fishing for the fun kind of attention.

“Can I um, get you something? A drink?”

And with unexpected desire sweeping over him, he completely forgot about the fight.

Trauma was always hard to process. Ashton had been confronted with it more times than he could count at the hands of his foster parents. Jaxen had clearly been traumatized by his capture and was replaying it probably word for word how Cedric might have. God only knew the man was cruel on the best of days.

The words played images in Ashton's own mind. He'd get about the day they were to eat him that never came. The day like Taylor had. He still had nightmares about it all. L, even though he knew the day would never truly come as long as he sang the sweet notes of persuasion.

Jaxen took a threatening step closer and Ashton took a step back. But the magic did eventually take hold. It was like pushing water through mud, but it came out the other side a bit dirtier. It always did. Ashton smiled.

With a little more pouring of his gift through the words of the soft sing song, "I'd love to. But not here. Take me up stairs to watch the main event." Ashton offered Jaxen his hand. Jaxen didn't look like the type that wanted to be escorted. He was the one doing the escorting. And that was fine with Ashton.

A glance at the ceiling was the first outward reaction to Ashton’s suggestion. He studied the shadows overhead, pondered, then jut out a lip and nodded like it was the best idea in the world.

“Sure,” he slid his arm around the younger man’s shoulders and gave a little squeeze. He was scrawnier than he looked, but then again, Jaxen was stronger than he looked too. Guess deception went both ways.

“You look like a wine cooler kind of guy, but a night with me and the best vodka will get that straightened out.” The anticipation of it was electrifying, and the curl of a grin promised as much. Jaxen gave one last curious glance at the shapes hovering nearby, but he saw none but Ashton.

He slipped his hand down Ashton’s arm, eventually grasping his hand. Their fingers parted after a few steps as Jaxen pivoted to lead on.

There was a bar in the next room, the same one where Mik and him stopped to refill their drinks before enjoying the back-room festivities, but as soon as he crossed the threshold, a tingle shivered up and down his body, and everything in sight disappeared.

And so did Jaxen.

Ashton rolled his eyes at the wine cooler quip. Wasn't the first time he heard it. And it wasn't the last time either -- everyone always underestimated him. He might not be born a russian, but he drank like one. But he'd let Jaxen think whatever he wanted. He'd let him pour his drink, and encourage him to try -- whatever it took to not make a scene. He just wanted to get home without dying.

This was already a dangerous mission, this guy was a fighter -- and he was a channeler, maybe not the Ascendancy caliber, but who was right? The man was a god in his own right -- at least that was what his display of power had proven the night he revealed himself and the world of magic that lay beneath. Ashton had always beleived in magic -- he was magically inclined afterall. There was no other way to explain his abilities. Science sure as fuck couldn't.

But he didn't get a chance to levy any of his talents as they approached the door. A soft tingle ran across his skin, a voice echoed in his mind. Thank you for the gift. and when they stepped through a thin veil of light encompassed them and Jaxen disappeared. Literally disappeared between steps. What the fuck!

Ashton took a few steps back and turned in circles. No one else really noticed -- except one. Those big brown eyes were wide with disbelief as well. But the there was a club wide tone that echoed through the halls -- signifying that the main match would start soon. Final bets were to be placed before the next one. His mark turned with the black widow of a woman in tow, his arm wrenched behind him like some sort of slave. Ashton's heart sank -- he was dangerous too. And now Jaxen was gone and he knew that too. Fuck! This wasn't going to end well. Fuck!

Ashton went up to the main ring and found a seat. He had to see -- had to make a report back to Mistress Blackthorn. How was he ever going to get the man home now -- he'd never trust him. Fuck!

The room was hardly appealing. The yelling and the audience so close. Nox didn't want people that close to him, it would drive him up a fucking wall trying to make sure he didn't hurt anyone. He preferred a much more controlled system. He was much more controlling than this crowd would like. Most of them kept a distance around the two as the waded through the rough crowd. An air about them he supposed, and there probably was a bit more danger present than usual. The horde bubbled closer to the surface at Almaz. He could feel their pull. They wanted a fight. Wanted to taste blood. They ... it wasn't they, there wasn't a pull of the horde -- not exactly but today it was stronger, more nagging. Maybe it was the potential for what lay after. Or was it something else.

Nox spied Jaxen's friend in the ring. His back covered in a singular tattoo but he couldn't make it out for the movement -- not that he cared. He didn't particularly find ink attractive or unattractive, but it was always a curiosity. Other than the orborous he once sported he hadn't thought about getting a tattoo till recently -- etching the Atharim calling card on his skin had been hard, and he hadn't regretted it, but if he could muster up the courage to do that, he could do it to immortalize the loves of his life on his skin even if he never saw any of them again -- except Thalia -- he fully intended to see Thalia again. And it wasn't the Raffe was gone. He just didn't hold out any hope for them getting back together. He wanted it. Dreamed about it, but the horde wasn't going anywhere. Raffe would never trust him and ...

Nox pushed the thoughts away before the horde latched on to his misery and pushed through the cracks to make tonight a devastating match. Mik fought well. He was a brawler, Nox preferred control. His thoughts coming back round full circle as he glanced around and saw Jaxen with another man. A young blonde pretty boy who the playboy was fawning over. Nox followed them with his eyes to the door and watched as something happened. Something... was mild. Jaxen disappeared. The guy he was with turned around astonished by what had happened. He hadn't known anything more than Nox did and he saw him looking at him and his eyes went fearful. And he scurried out the door, tail between his legs and in such a hurry Nox almost yanked out of Oriena's grasp before he heard the bell toll for last bet in.

Well fuck! Nox turned back to Ori and smiled at her with a dark gaze. "Time for Round 1." He licked his lips. "I'm looking forward to round 2." The horde stirred deeply in his body. it wanted it all. Wanted the fight, the fuck. It wanted and needed and it clawed at his brain trying to take hold. But the power held it back...

Nox nodded to the man guarding the door where the fighter had emerged and he was let down without question. It was almost time to fight... the horde raged inside of him ready to pull the roof down...

Something was unleashed within Spectra, lately. She broke her own chains long ago in Colombia, but after the casino, she realized she was still held back. She was walking this world as though she was on top of it, but she still sold herself. She was paid handsomely, and with the piles of money swelling her bank accounts, she breathed fabulous wealth -- the same kind of wealth that welcomed her into the dark domain of Almaz with open arms. With that money she purchased the ultra-plunging, golden dress she wore tonight. The cutout swirled around her navel, showing off the lines of her sculpted abs, then swept around the curve of her hips like the hands of a lover. The rest dripped with chain details that looked like falling droplets of liquid gold.

It was her first time at Almaz. A man had to invite her, of course. She avoided gritting her teeth to spare her lipstick, though that was the exact kind of chain that she wanted to rip apart. For all her iron fisted control over her own life, she was still an object of the world of men. And she was tired of it. She wanted to be the one in control. She wanted them to be her objects. Just like with him.

Most stared as she passed as Spectra Lin drew the lustful eyes of men and women alike. As she glanced at one dark-haired beauty with skin the color of the moon, those lips parted as though she was about to say something, but instead, Spectra dismissed the woman and went on.

So Mik was having a bit of fun. Ok, more than a bit. The adrenaline rushing through him made everything better. The room, which had been fairly dark in that way these placed preferred lseemed to have lit up. The scent of his opponent- dude with a scar on his neck- sweat and blood and some god-awful aftershave blended with vodka made his nose hairs stand up as if electrified, so strong he tasted it in the back of his throat.

The entire room felt living, pulsing, people cheering or talking or watching or whatever, each on doing their own thing, and yet one.

And Mik loved it. I mean yeah, the hits hurt. Fucking duh!  But even that was ok. He was alive. Not like he was a philosophizer. Especially when avoiding shots to the head and what not. But this was alive in a way different from when he felt the Lady's gift.

Speaking of, glancing up after one particular sharp blow that definitely broke a bone in his hand even as it connected with  scar-neck's temple, he could see the Lady out and about. Every female face that turned to him had her eyes. For just a moment anyway.

That included Oriena. Yeah, he definitely wanted to fuck her. Not as Lady Luck. As herself. He had a feeling she might be a bit of a Switch too. Dom and Sub in one. It wasn't common. 

Suddenly she was yanked out of sight- or rather, the room was, as everything went sideways. Literally. So he didn't actually feel his face hit the polished wood floors. But he sure as shit felt it like a second after. 

Neck boy must have swept a leg as he'd fallen. Which wasn't bad detective work, really, given the bit of cloud in his brains. He pushed everything away and focused and....yep, sure enough, he felt pawing as the fucker tried to climb on him pin him.

Don't get me wrong. If this was a munch or a session at the Upper Floor, he wouldn't have minded at all. But the Almaz wasn't that club. So he made his hands and arms reach out as he rolled onto his back and pull Scar-Neck up across his body into a hold. 

He fought. Of course he did. His head butted backwards and Mik's shoulder and then lip tool a hit- the latter of which filled his mouth with the iron taste of blood.

Make laughed as his arms locked into a vice, sure that his teeth were stained red. Unable to move his head, Neck boy tried kicking- bruising Mik's shins- and clawing at his arms.

It fucking hurt. Fucking hurt indeed, as he raked with his nails. But the sheer desperation fueled his laughter and dear God but it felt wonderful, so good he was hopeful he wasn't sporting a semi.

That desperate clawing against the iron vice of his arms slowed and after a moment, he fell still. Slow count of ten to make sure and Mik shoved him off, then rolled over to heave himself up. He was a bit dizy. He did face plant into the floor, after all.

He saw Jaxen over near the door talking to a blonde guy and....it seemed odd. He shook his head and stumbled for a moment. Someone caught him and for a moment, he felt a wet towel at his head, the pain sharp as it dug into him. A drink pressed to his lips- iced vodka, bless whoever it was playing nurse- and so it was maybe a minute maybe five before he saw Jaxen again, seeming to lean against the guy. 

Odd. Yeah, he wasn't wrong. It was odd. He'd flirted with Jaxen and Jaxen flirted back. But it was clear it was an act. At least that's how it seemed. He'd said as much. He wasn't into dudes. 

The way they walked off said they were going to a hot tub to do shots of Jagermeister. Which usually ended in one thing. He needed to find his clothes. Something was wrong. Maybe. Or maybe Jaxen was playing another game.

Still, he should see what was up. If he could focus on what was going on around him. He took the towel from one of the help and cleaned his face. She beckoned to an attached door where his clothes were and he could get cleaned up.

Ori followed him. Nox didn't know if it were out of boredom or anticipation. He would put money on boredom. The pits were dark and deep and the howl of men in pain could be heard from whatever match had ended. It must have gone poorly.

The door behind them opened and Jaxen's friend was being show the way to clean up. Nox wondered if he'd been down there before, he seemed like he knew the place. Nox glanced back and gave him a nod. He looked a lot worse for wear than he had when they'd left them earlier. "Knobs go in the opposite direction." Nox informed him. His first introduction to the showers was a dosing of ice cold deep from the frozen tundra water that was Moscovian winter. It was not pleasant after a beating -- not unexpectedly anyway. The guy who'd shown him the way had laughed as Nox yelped.

Nox didn't really concern himself with Jaxen's friend after that, he doffed the black shawl and put it in a locker with everything else of importance and locked it not only with the padlock but a weave of air tied to last for an eternity and strong enough to stop bullets. He left his arm and his wallet in there for safe keeping. Last thing he wanted was his life to go down even further into the shit hole it was. But Nox didn't go out with out a counter balance.

He and Sage, and even Cruz had worked a bit on throwing a less than ideal makeshift weapon which was mostly just an iron ball at the end of a iron rod at the end of his arm. Cruz had cheated and used Jivana tech to put it all together. It was crude but it worked and he wasn't here to win a beauty contest.

The match he was in had already started. He could hear the crowd cheering for their favorite. Another man hung out in the shadows waiting. He glanced at Nox and golden eyes reflected back at him in the dim light. If he'd had his wallet he'd snap a picture and send it to Raffe. He'd at least keep one last promise to his ex-lover. Not that he'd been looking for the wolfbrother.

He was tapped on the shoulder and lead into the tunnel where he'd enter the match. Fuck! Nox wondered if Oriena knew her prize fighter was in a match with him tonight.

Beyond the tunnel where Kasun had stood a shady man watched with a smirk splayed across his lips. The nearly balding man stared at Nox like he knew a secret. Before Nox could decide what to do he disappeared into the shadows and deeper into the pit.

Nox was tapped on the shoulder and lead to the ring through a different tunnel. Nox disliked fighting mutiple people, but he knew that was on tap tonight. And he wasn't wrong. There was a three way, two of them teaming up on Kasun -- the most dangerous of them it seemed. Or maybe it was part of the whole stick.

Nox stepped into to the ring, and the gate closed behind him. Kasun rolled out of the way of the guy with a sword barely in time before the downward motion would have caught him square in the body.

The other man was making a run for it and Nox threw out a wire of air and the man fell flat on his face in the dirt and blood below him. The crowd laughed and cheered. And the two big men were both glaring at Nox. Kasun was getting to his feet and had yet to make a decision on what he was going to do.

The guy with the sword twirled it around his hand in a threatening motion. Showing off his agility and his skill. Nox smirked and with a thought a flaming sword appeared in his hand and he brandished it much the same way that the guy did. "Bring it." The horde pulled at his mind. He let it out a little. Let the darkness flow into his finger tips. The death in his eyes. There was little left of what Nox would call himself. Just enough to keep himself and everyone safe -- just the edge of himself. Anything more and he'd lose the hordes attention and the night would be forfeit, and his struggles would be deeper the next day. He had a system.

The felled man dusted off his chest and bull rushed Nox from the side. It hadn't caught Nox off guard, but the tackle hurt none-the-less and they crashed into the concrete wall of the ring. The iron ball at the end of his arm struck and a loud gong echoed in their ears. It wasn't from his missing arm. A new entrant and arrived with the sound of it.

They looked to the rising gate as a large gorilla roared into the arena as the shady man from below jabbed a needle into its neck and let go of the cords holding it back.

It pulled through the gate and they slammed shut behind it. Kasun was the first to back away. And the man with the sword didn't have time before the large hands of the gorilla took the man by his head and sword arm and yanked. Blood and guts splattered across the ring. Nox felt the call as the beast roared and beat its chest. It glared at Nox and Nox knew what was in that needle. The horde!